


Pain

by Why Am I The Witness (PoisonedDeath)



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedDeath/pseuds/Why%20Am%20I%20The%20Witness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His friends are dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

The wounds along his arms are nothing. The pain inside is stronger - a screaming, viscous beast clawing mercilessly at his chest until he caves in again. Red lines that darken before the fade to pink, then white. Lines he hides with lies and sleeves, his brain working overtime to create these pathetic excuses that have never been of any use. No one has ever noticed. He doesn't expect them to; he's always worn sweaters, so there was no sudden fashion change to alert anyone to a hidden problem.

His friends are dying. The disease that's going to kill them will probably kill him too, in a sick and twisted way. He makes another incision, deeper this time. Harsh slashes. He deserves it. This pain in his chest will drive him to nothing, and he knows it. Oh, God, he knows it, but what can be do? His friends rely on him, so he has to stay strong and keep that disgusting smile plastered on his face. Blood. His arm shakes. He clenches his fist and watches the blood leak.

The world is an ugly mess, where dreams are crushed. He will never amount to anything - he rarely films anymore. He wants to, but he wants to film his friends. It all seems redundant now - they're wasting away, just like he is. No one will be left to watch the films, to remember it all, so why should he bother filming? He's lazy, he tells himself. The blade's being pushed into his skin again, slicing it apart. He doesn't register the pain anymore - it's all he can feel. But the blood - the cool liquid that's running down his arm - is soothing and that's enough. 

Mark Cohen doesn't cry. Mark Cohen doesn't show emotion. But Mark Cohen finds solace in a sharpened razor blade. And that's just how it is.


End file.
